


The Other Choice

by Ria



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ria/pseuds/Ria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Red meets her own prince in a meadow and makes a different choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this entry, Thea, but this was sadly a pinch hit. I tried to write down the essence of the story I had in mind. I hope I succeeded and that you (fingers crossed) enjoy this a little. Happy Yuletide to you!
> 
> Written for Thea

 

 

So this is how it ends, in blood and whimpering and pain. Your sister's blood is eerily like your namesake: rose red, gleaming and rich with the scent of descending death.

The smell fades as the blood cools, and you know then, finally, that she is dying.

It is not your fault, you think, but you also know this is a lie. Every action, every decision, every consequence--it has all stemmed from the one careless choice you made so long ago, in a different body, a different life.

The bear-prince has reached her, blurring between his forms, trying to keep your sister talking even as he knows there is no hope. There is too much blood and not enough time. Your servant was thorough with the knife. It's why you hired him.

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. What one sister has, she must share with the other. That was the way of things. You were sisters. Though you did not look alike, you shared enough to be as twins.

But there was one thing you did not share. And that made all the difference.

The bear-prince is brushing back Snow White's hair from her eyes. His fingertips, smeared with her blood, leave scarlet streaks in her hair. She is beginning to cry, but he will not wipe away her tears.

This is all your fault, you think, and then shove it to the back of your mind. You have to. It's the only way to stay sane.

Even with the guilt ripping up your insides, you can't help but notice that the bear-prince has improved this tiime. Less fat in the contours of his face, his cheekbones more elegent and defined. A proper prince, this time.

You, however, did not get any prince because you were a foolish, foolish girl who

* * *

(did not listen, no, not once, never, never, never. Mother always warned that being headstrong would come back to haunt her and, oh, she was right! She met the prince that day, in the meadow, a good and honourable man whom she never should have met because she wasn't supposed to wander out that far. 

But when did she ever listen? 

The prince was good, and humble, and kind, and he looked at her like she was the most important person ever to him. So she basked in his attention, for her and her alone, and found herself loathe to share that with Snow White.

When they came across the dwarf, trapped and shouting, a few days before they were to make the journey to the City where she would take up her new duties as princess, she convinced Snow White, her dear, dear kind sister, to not look as they walked on by.)

* * *

fell for another, as you once did before, as you always seem destined to, But you don't think about that. It's far, far safer not to think about that.

Your prince became king, and you his queen, and you both waged war because it was expected of you. The battles were waged and lingered, on and on and on. Time passed. The fighting did not end. Your king died. You did not, and the battles continued on because you didn't know what else to do.

Then the soldier came, young and idealistic. Your servant brought him in. You stared at him and were reminded of your sister, and the wave of loneliness hit, crippling you like a hand had reached in and closed around your heart. You cannot remember the last time you saw her, for she has scorned life at Court and all its glittering traps. You tried not to think it as a rejection of you, but did not succeed very well.

Everything started to end when the soldier came. He tried to convince you to embrace change.

He should have know better... as should have you.

You do not have much time for regret in your life. Showing regret as queen was weakness, a fault that needed to be avoided at all costs. This is why you do not regret. But that is also why you 

* * *

(had him killed. He tried to make her change, and pressed when she showed reluctance. He tried to make her stop the battles, but she had been fighting for so long that she did not know what else she could do, what else was possible for her to do.

When she learned that he'd met Snow White in the middling-slums and struck up a friendship, she hadn't expected the jealousy to hurt so much, for the knife to twist so sharply.

But it did.

So she feared, and panicked, and she killed, and she quietly, quietly regretted it.

She did not regret the curse she had her servant place upon the soldier, turning him into a bear. Later, however, not a day went by until she and her sister died that she did not despise herself for this, her moment of weakness, her moment of cowardice.)

* * *

do not like her sister's new boyfriend. A successful businessman looking beyond his means and ambitions with his new menegarie. You do not like the way he looks at your sister, or the possessive tilt to his eyes as he grasps her arm. No one is allowed to look at your sister like that, except for you.

You tell yourself that it has nothing to do with the odd memories from a time long before, when you were a queen and your sister was starngely enough not in Court with you. You can almost believe your lies.

You recognise the bear that comes with the incorrect animal order, but do not say anything, hoping it'll all fix itself out. It does not: Snow White insists that the bear stays. 

Time passes. Snow White spends far too long talking to the bear. You feel the familiar, disturbing stirrings of jealousy in your chest.

You realise the boyfriend's thoughts have turned from erratic jealousy to murder. You know that you have to stop him, but it all goes wrong. He dies, but not by your hand, and Snow White has been injured protecting that dratted _bear_.

Your sister is dying, and you were not able to stop it.

One moment, the bear is simply a bear; the next, he is human and cradling your sister to his chest and fighting a losing battle not to weep. You've no idea what has changed to break your enchantment, but you figure it has to have something to do with your sister's selflessness. She always was better than you. Mother said so.

(He's not even a prince, never was, only a soldier, but you suppose surviving hundreds of years as a bear has to have _some_ kind of compensation. Drat it.)

You know there are several things you could do now. You could hold your sister's hand as she dies. You could look into the soldier's eyes and apologise for your jealousy. You could tell the truth, explain what happened, and beg for forgiveness. You could tell Snow White that you love her. There are so many things you could do.

You do none of these things.

Instead, you slip further into the shadows and flee, running deeper into the night's embace. Snow White was the good girl in the family, not you; Mother always said so. You're not there to witness your sister's death, so it could have happened within moments or an hour. You don't know, though you're not brave enough to think you don't care.

You know you're not going to forget this for quite a while, no matter what will happen when you reach your own grave.

You've broken the promise to your Mother again--you will not share in your sister's death, yet another thing that marks you as different, not two halves of a whole at all.

Somehow, despite it all, you can't find regret for this either.

 


End file.
